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We leave 10:15 and drive 3 miles to the Abbey Abbazia di Sant'Antimo, near Castelnuovo del'Abate. It's an imposing 12th Century Romanesque church built in travertine stone, on the site of a monastery founded by Charlemagne in 781AD but parking is on a slope and access doesn't look easy.
We head back to Montalcino, but despite our and Snoopy's best efforts we cannot find the camper parking. There is an aire/sosta 0.6 miles away, which we do find but its at the top of a steep narrow road not at all favourable to the buggy. Slightly disappointed we set out on part of a tour in the 'Italy Back Roads' book. The route takes in lots more lovely Tuscan scenery. We reach Pienza, an old walled town remodelled bt Pope Pius II in 1458-65, and easily find 'parcheggio camper' a few hundred yards from the town. Inside the walled town is a step back in time. The town is famous for pecorino cheese and there are numerous shops selling cheeses, salamis and dried meat, but they could equally be antique shops. The aged cheeses and meats are crusted with straw or mould and the smells coming out are rich and powerful. Other shops sell olive products, oil and dispensers of all shapes and sizes; and there are various china and ceramic shops with their wares decorated with olive or lemon artwork.
There are massive panoramic views from the old walls, stretching for miles over the tan and green landscape to distant mauve hills.
We tried to find somewhere for lunch but most are full. One waiter invites us in but won't let us on the terrace because the wheelchair will block the passage, but we have no intention of going inside so we wave arms in an Italianate fashion and go away. We end up with Panini with pork and cheese, a local, if unusual, combination and one we probably won't repeat.
Leaving Pienza there are more terrific vistas of vines, sunflowers and olives on the way to our Fattore Amico at Il Poiggio near Lago Trasimeno. We are greeted with 'Hello' by a 10/11 year old lad on a bike who cycles off to fetch his mum. Anna arrives from the cellar full of apologies; it is harvest, they are busy, we can stay by the building but the usual spaces are being used by tractors bringing in the grapes, would we like electric, sorry for the noise.... We say all is fine and settle in for the night. The only real noise is their dog whose bark echoes off the distant hills a second later. Challenged by the echo he barks again and so it goes. Poggio, by the way, means hillock or knoll.
Through the evening 3 or 4 tractors come in, trailers laden with grapes ready for turning into wine.
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